The light of the healing array painted gentle arcs across the walls, flickering like flames behind silk. Rana rested quietly in her bed, her pulse steady but her thoughts anything but.
Her parents sat nearby, flanked by Patriarch Riven and Elder Shia. The air was low with conversation, softened by concern.
Simon Flare stood with arms crossed—stone-faced, as always. The loss hadn't shaken him outwardly, but his presence was weighty with protective silence.
Jana leaned over the bedside, adjusting Rana's blanket. "You held your ground against Jin Ember Pearl. That alone earns respect."
Teacher Shia nodded. "It wasn't your strength that faltered. It was your margin. We'll rebuild that."
Patriarch Riven smiled faintly, eyes thoughtful. "Your qi rhythm is recovering faster than I expected. You'll be training again in no time if you rest properly."
Rana nodded, almost absently. She appreciated the words—but her thoughts spiraled inward.
Will he disappear now? Pretend like he doesn't know me—Just like he said?
Jana noticed the flicker of doubt behind her daughter's eyes and reached out with a teasing smile.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," she said, brushing Rana's hair gently. "Your little fiancé is still around."
Rana's cheeks went scarlet instantly.
"He's not—! I mean, we're not—!" She stammered, tugging the blanket up higher.
"Tell that to the whole Ruona continent."
"Mom." Rana covered her head completely.
Shia chuckled under her breath. Even Master Rive offered a warm smile.
Simon didn't react. If he noticed the moment at all, his expression remained carved from granite.
But beneath the surface, he hates the idea of his little princess being in an affectionate relationship with a boy. Even if that's Jalen. In fact, if any other boy had kissed his daughter like Jalen did, he would have wiped him out of existence.
____
The lanterns had dimmed. A breeze whispered through the curtains.
Rana blinked awake—startled, yet quietly relieved to see Jalen standing at the threshold, his robes rustling softly like moonlit silk. He hadn't ignored her.
"You thought I left, didn't you?" he said gently.
She sat up quickly. "Well… I haven't seen you since the tournament ended. I figured you decided to keep that promise—you know, about pretending not to know me."
Jalen noticed the flicker of hurt behind her tone and softened. "Forget you?" He smiled faintly. "You're the number one beauty of this continent… and my star pupil."
Rana flushed crimson. "You—"
Jalen sat beside her and placed two fingers against her wrist. His qi slipped into her channels—controlled, measured, and warm.
She exhaled silently, unable to speak. The resonance of his energy pulsing within her felt… comforting.
"Outwardly, you're recovering well. But the spirit fusion left internal damage," he said, his tone calm and clinical. "That's why your flames felt hollow during the match. Give it three to four weeks—you'll be back to form. And once you are…" He reached into his sleeve, then paused. "I've prepared an upgraded version of your spirit flame technique. It'll fit your physique better."
Rana's eyes lit up, excitement flickering in her gaze.
"But save your joy until tomorrow," Jalen added lightly. "There's going to be a celebration."
He rose to leave.
"Wait," Rana said suddenly—then hesitated. Her voice faltered.
He paused at the door, patient.
"I'll keep training," she said quietly. "Next time… I won't lose."
Jalen offered a faint smile. "Even if you do, it won't change how I see you. Now rest. You've earned it."
Then he turned and stepped out, the lanterns swaying gently behind him, casting long shadows against the quiet.
___
As Jalen entered the garden paths, the moon cast long shadows across cobblestone and vine. Lanterns floated overhead like slow-moving stars, their soft glow mirrored on the polished stone.
He walked silently, hands tucked in his sleeves, the distant laughter of recovering disciples and lingering guests fading behind him.
As he reached the pavilion's edge, his steps slowed.
And then—he felt it.
A ripple.
Not hostile. Not curious. Just watching.
Spirit senses flickered through the atmosphere like silent messages—sect masters cloaked in qi, young nobles sharpening their perception, and elders pretending not to scan him while subtly doing so. From treetop balconies and lantern-lit terraces, dozens of cultivators—some Peak Enlightened, a few even Early Star—cast their eyes and their senses toward him.
Not one approached.
Not one dared.
Because what they felt wasn't a threat.
It was uncertainty wrapped in quiet command.
Jalen didn't react.
Instead, he stepped atop the roof of the east wing—a slanted, flame-glass surface reflecting silver moonlight. He folded his legs, sat quietly, and began to cultivate.
Not loudly. Not theatrically.
Just pressure turned inward. Just the flame held still.
Those watching waited. Studied.
But there was no flare. No spiral. No chaos.
Only silence.
Only depth.
And beneath that silence… the continent began to stir.